The Letter
by dalekchung
Summary: For Memorial Day. After the events of Scorpia Rising, Alex is living more or less happily in America with the Pleasures. What happens when his (typical) English teacher assigns a small writing piece that forces him to face his feelings? One-shot


**DISCLAIMER: I don't own our fabulous characters here. Also, let's just pretend that they ( _fantabulous_ characters) have school on Memorial Day!**

For Memorial Day in America. May 25, 2015.

For the people who don't get _nearly_ enough credit.

The Letter

 _"It's Memorial Day!"_

 _"What?"_

 _"In America. Every year on Memorial Day, my family goes out to see Dad. We have a picnic and buy him flowers. We tried leaving him a bottle of beer once, but the manager ended up kicking us out."_

That's what Jack said to Alex every year. She had told him that her father had been killed in action when she was young. This was a special day for her. That is, if she was there.

Alex frowned as his own thoughts turned to Jack, reminding him of the ugly, unseen scar in his heart. Tendrils of dread crawled up his spine as he recalled the day that changed his miserable life. He was finally free of MI6, but he had paid a terrible price for his freedom.

"Get up, slow poke!" Sabina. She was another sacrifice for his freedom. They'd gotten close over the past year – inseparably so. They were like siblings now. Not the girl he liked. Not anymore.

Alex groaned moodily, his response understood by Sabina. He could practically hear her eye-roll as she knocked on his door once more, "We have school!"

"Yeah," Alex stared at the ceiling absentmindedly, "I'm getting up."

There was no response, and he assumed that Sabina had gone.

He pulled himself out of his bed and started to get ready. It was the same routine day after day. Shower. Brush teeth. Get dressed. A granola bar for breakfast. Waving goodbye to the Pleasures as he pedaled away on his bike. Sabina grinning at him from the bus as he easily kept along.

Today was not an exception. He still stuck his tongue out childishly at Sabina as he rode along, then proceeded to speed ahead of the bright, yellow bus.

Alex arrived at school earlier than usual, barely sweating from the ride. The usual teachers greeted him with a hearty, "Mornin' Rider!"

He slunk into his first class, English, giving Ms. Walters a small smile.

It wasn't long before the bell rung and the usual flood of students flounced in, jabbering loudly to each other and laughing at stupid jokes that Alex didn't find funny.

"Good morning!" Ms. Walters trilled once everyone had taken his or her seat, "As you should know, today is Memorial Day."

There was a small murmur of agreement from the students.

"So, I've prepared a little activity for us," she began handing out lined paper and envelopes, "Write a letter to someone you know that serves or has served and mail it to them. You can take the whole period to do this."

There was a collective hiss of " _yes!"_ as the students moved around to where their friends sat, indulging themselves with the free period. Alex, however, turned to the blank sheet of paper in front of him, eying it quizzically.

He didn't really have anyone to write to. The only military personnel he knew were MI6, CIA, and ASIS agents, in addition to the SAS soldiers. He really did _not_ want to bump heads with them again.

He nearly snorted when he imagined writing to someone like Tulip Jones – or perhaps the retired Alan Blunt. They would have burned it in a heartbeat. Alex was pretty sure that they weren't the "heart-to-heart" kind of people.

So who could he write to?

Alex picked up his pencil, not exactly sure what he was going to do. He placed the tip to the paper, chewing on his lower lip. There was one name he was all too familiar with… It left a bitter-sweet taste in his mouth.

 _Ian,_

 _I wonder what it would have been like if you hadn't left me in your predicament. Not that I'm blaming you for everything. If I hadn't started my own little investigation, I wouldn't have ever gotten tangled up in your mess._

 _How is your life in the afterlife? Stupid question, I know. It's not like you'll ever read this. I suppose I'll end up in the same place that you're in. Hell, right? We've both taken lives – accidental or not._

 _I met your killer. Yassen. He wasn't really that bad of a guy. I think it's only because I'm the son of his former best friend… that was a spy for SCORPIA… but was a spy for MI6… basically a double spy. I don't know why I didn't just say that. You hate it when I drag out things._

 _I'm living more or less happily in America with Sabina and the Pleasures. Oh, that's right. You haven't met them. You'd like them. They took me in after the events in Egypt and after I escaped your organization._

 _I'd just like to state clearly that I haven't exactly cut my ties with military intelligence. I've tried, but it seems that I'm too good. I do some errands for the CIA, but don't tell the Pleasures. They don't know._

 _Sometimes I really resent you. What kind of guy trains their nephew to be perfect spy, then dies on him and leaves a_ bank _as his guardian? What kind of stupid logic was that? You have a lot of explaining to do. Which you can't because you're dead. That makes me more irritated._

 _What makes me more upset is that you lied. It's part of the job, yeah, but still. You lied to me and Jack. Now she's dead too, and I'm left with no one._

 _I guess the most upsetting thing is that I never even suspected. I trusted you implicitly and didn't think about why a banker was always getting beat up. I really should have known better. A lot of people back then told me I was intelligent. If I really was, then why didn't I suspect?_

 _That first paragraph? What a lie. I do blame you for everything. Everything that happened to me, to Jack, and to the Pleasures. I know that what I'm saying is probably unfair to you, but it's true. I really do blame you._

 _At the same time, I can't really blame you. Does that make any sense? After all, you were serving your country… But should you really have put your country above your family?_

 _Anyway, thanks. Kind of. You made me who I am today, which is more than I can say about my father._

 _A.R._

Alex put down the pencil, staring at the words he had furiously scribbled down. To his horror, he could feel a wave of emotions rising inside of him as he recalled the fond memories of his childhood. A pained smile made its way onto his face.

 _Ian Rider – the man I both hate and love._

Exactly 547.3 miles away, a thin, fair-haired man, strapped to a hospital bed, awoke with a sneeze.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello everyone! This wasn't exactly my best. I'll admit that. When I was writing it, I wanted it to be emotional and sad... but I don't think that worked out...**

 **BUT ANYWAY, I wanted to put this up for Memorial Day!**

 **I'm a little disappointed about the lack of response to SpyFest 2015. I set up a forum called "Revival of SpyFest" and I'm just asking for you (if you're interested in participating) to pop in and leave a comment. I mean, right now I'm taking the silence as disinterest, which is cool too!**

 **Anywayyyy, guess whose birthday it is tomorrow? YAS! MEH! (hinthint *winkwink*). Lol, just kidding, but yeah...**

 **Actually, going back to SpyFest, I actually do want some confirmation. That way I won't be launching a competition with no one competing, lol.**

 **See ya next one-shot/chapter! I do have Chapter 09 of OZ (hehe "The Wizard of Oz") ready. It's just going through the editing process!**

 **-Alice**


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